How to Raise a Family with Your BlacksmithPirate
by Crystyna
Summary: How to Raise a Family with Your BlacksmithPirate Husband. Third and last in the How To series. WillOC. ElizabethOC, and what PoTC would be complete without Jack?
1. Married Life

Disclaimer: Well, if I didn't own the majority of the characters in the first two, how could I possibly own them now? So, recognizable characters are regrettably not mine. All OC's and the plot, however, belong to me.

A/N: I had said that this would be a trilogy, just like the movies are supposedly going to be. I'm hard-pressed to find something interesting to write about. First of all I'm starting to wish I hadn't named Christina, well, Christina because I cringe whenever I read back previous chapters…I started this when I was 13 and now I'm 17. That's a big of an age difference, and things that sounded really good when I was 13 are horribly embarrassing now. I've said this before, but I need to say it again just to remind myself that I am no longer the 13 year old Orlando Bloom addict. Nostalgia's a tricky thing.

So I'm switching to third person format, mostly because I want to try something new and more difficult. I'm very tired of getting only one perspective, or else having to randomly switch throughout.

I'm considering editing HTSAH 1 and 2 (actually I've started editing, but very, very slowly because "editing" has become "rewriting" given the state HTSAH1 is in) but I may not do that. HTSAH 1 and 2 are cute, the way pictures of you when you were naked in the bathtub at age three are cute.

Or maybe its just me.

Anyway, thus commences the last installment of the "How To" series. Enjoy, I hope.

* * *

It was amazing just how much of a bloody ordeal married life was, even though Christina had been made an honest women nearly half a year ago. It seemed that everyone on Port Royal was dying to know the state of Christina's reproductive process. She wasn't sure if it was her colorful pre-marital exertions or the fact that she was the Governor's daughter, but she _was_ certain of the fact that it was bloody annoying for everyone to eye her hawkishly each time she left the house.

The matrons of Port Royal exchanged knowing glances if Christina left the house with her laces a millimeter looser than they were normally. The younger, unmarried women eyed her jealously if she left the house to visit Will in the blacksmith shop - the shop that was, finally, his. Even the men had their eyes on her - certainly not because they desired her, but because all the intrigue was seeping into them as well, and men are not nearly as impervious to gossip as they like to think.

Will thought it was all a grand joke, naturally. Being the blunt man that he was, he made

no attempt to discourage any rumors that might make their way through Port Royal. He walked with her proudly to their cottage if she had spent that day at the shop with him, often with a smug grin on his face that made the men leer, the matrons exchange glances halfway between knowing and scandalized, and made the maidens blush to the roots of their hair, their eyes glittering with half-formed imaginings perhaps with the beau they had in mind.

All of the attention made Christina itchy, frankly. She didn't like to be looked at, did not appreciate all the speculative glances and the whispering of servant-women behind lines of starched white petticoats. So she spent a great deal of time at home rather than walking about town; she worked in the garden, attempted to learn how to cook, washed her own petticoats for the very first time and rubbed her hands raw in the process, despite years of fencing lessons that had already made her hands nearly as rough and thick-skinned as Will's .

Christina realized that the events she had lived through for the past two years were far from ordinary. Proper ladies rarely went off on ships and never with pirates. The fact that Christina sailed off as part of a pirate crew twice turned propriety on its head.

But Christina was not particularly concerned with propriety any longer. She had a job now, and it was one of wife. Wife, she mused, a small smile on her lips. She touched the navy mark on her shoulder from under a collar of plane gray cotton. She wasn't sure she quite liked the word. Oh, to be sure she loved being Mrs. William Turner; she loved her husband. What she didn't like was the mending and the cooking and the laundry, although the cooking wasn't half bad since Anita visited every day with little Yani.

Governor Swann apparently thought he was not only allowing Christina to take part in lessons in cooking, but also encouraging her to produce children by lending Anita to his daughter. He wasn't pleased that his daughter would have to be taking on household tasks, but she was quite adamant about it. Lord knew what she was supposed to do with her time now that she was married, but she didn't want to be an upper-class woman any longer. No, Christina was quite eager to be as common as the rest of Port Royal. She lived in a cottage that was little more than a hut, at least by the Governor's standards, and it wasn't something that he could quite understand. He had offered to have her a mansion built right next to his, but Christina had gone pale at the thought and Will wouldn't hear of it. So she was a blacksmith's wife now, wearing stout, common clothes much of the day and getting her hands dirty doing the washing and the cooking and the gardening. Well, she has always been an odd one, but far be it from Governor Swann to begrudge her any happiness. And she certainly seemed happy.

Anita at least seemed to think so, and Anita was a bit of an extension of Governor Swann's eyes-and-ears into his daughter's new, married life. He perhaps wasn't the best father in the world to her, but one could not accuse him of not caring. Besides, perhaps the presence of Yani would get the two young lovebirds cracking - Governor Swann wasn't getting any younger, and it was far past both his daughters' prime. He wanted to see his grandchildren before he died.

Christina hummed to herself quietly as she sat in a rocking chair, attempting to embroider. She had not attempted such a feat since she was about twelve - she had abandoned embroidery for fencing by then, and had never turned back - and she was slowly beginning to remember why. Her neck was stiff, her fingers were frankly trembling under the stress of trying to make tiny stitches, and her eyes were sore. She thought of Will, though, and perhaps have the daughters she would bear. She'd had her fun, and now it was time to get down to business. She really wasn't a young chicken anymore, and as much as she missed Jack and the _Pearl_ and the island women, she was a married woman of Port Royal now, and it was time to start acting like one.

The thought made her quite sad, but she pushed it away. It was time for Christina Swann - now Christina Turner - to grow up, consistently wear dresses, and behave like a proper young missus.

Christina's eyes drifted to Yani, who was quietly playing with her dolls on the floor, as she cracked her knuckles impatiently and then scolded herself for doing so - what a bad example she must be! Yani was adorable, there was no question of it - but the ulterior motive of the child's presence made Christina uneasy. Her mind drifted once again to her age. She was quickly approaching her twenty-second birthday, well into her peak and perhaps a bit past it - the childbearing had better commence. While she admitted that watching Anita and Yani have long, undeniably intriguing conversations about Rita the doll's daily activities pulled at Christina's heartstrings, it also sent a whole new batch of butterflies in her stomach to take wing.

In short, the young wife didn't quite know what to do with herself. Her sword was safely packed in a trunk underneath her bed, as well as her practical clothes: a loose-fitting white shirt, gloriously stained with salt water and sweat, sturdy boots and britches that could be tucked into the boots, a weather beaten hat. Since her formal wedding, Christina hadn't opened the trunk and recently she'd even stopped thinking about it. Sometimes it was hard to remember what the _Pearl_ looked like, or what it felt like to be up in the bird's nest with nothing but what seemed like a few feet of air separating her from the moon and stars.

She would lay awake sometimes, long after Will had fallen asleep beside her, his bare arm over her bare shoulders, untidy hair curling haphazardly across his face. The window in their room would be open so slightly, letting in the air from the garden which teasingly reminded her of the island air which Naneth and Maurya must be breathing. She would sigh quietly to herself and press a kiss to Will's shoulder, glad to have him next to her - Will, at least, understood her need for him to be above all her friend even before their marriage vows. Will, Christina knew, would never suffocate her the way she thought wives must feel - wives whose husbands didn't teach them how to swordfight, who hadn't seen their wives corset-less and in britches.

Christina was grateful indeed, but marriage had taken some getting used to. It had settled upon her like a new frock, or a fresh pair of boots. She would shift her shoulders uncomfortably or wiggle her toes against the confines of a new pair of dress boots; they would be uncomfortable only until she got used to them. She wasn't worried, she knew her relative discomfort had faded quickly and was nearly gone. Will made it easier for her, he never asked to much or expected things of her. He did not demand, did not require. If she would cook, he would be grateful. If she cleaned, he would take care not to track mud into the house. He would talk to her of business even though she had no head for numbers, he would speak about customers roughly and honestly, as though Christina were a man, an equal. He knew she would have it no other way.

She turned to face him now; he stood in the doorway of their cottage looking tired but pleased from a hard day's work. Anita gathered Yani and quietly said her goodbyes, leaving by way of the garden. Christina smiled from where she sat, letting her hair down from the clips that she knew frustrated him. Her hair hung down to the middle of her back in soft waves of dark brown, making her dark skin seem lighter, her eyes seem brighter. Will's breath caught as it always did when her lips curved impishly from across the room.

Christina let her smile widen and inquired about his day. His own dark eyes never left hers as he made his way across the room, conversation quite possibly the farthest thing from his mind.

She had to admit - married life did have its perks.

* * *

A/N: Random start, I know. Reading too much like a fluffy romance novel, I know. I'm distracted by thoughts of anarchy and Guy Fawkes masks, what can I say? I really want to write a V for Vendetta fic, but I'm scared I'll absolutely ruin it so…pirates it is, my comfort blanket. 


	2. Expecting

A/N: Thus commences chapter 2. Standard disclaimer applies.

"I've got something you should hear before any of this," Christina said, a slow smile lighting up her features. She blushed at the look of utter disappointment on Will's face as he pulled back; his hands had already made their way to the laces on her corset.

"What?" he asked, almost whining.

"Eager, aren't you?" she said dryly, putting a hand on his chest where he kneeled before her, and pushing him back a bit. A woman needed her space when she was about to make such an important announcement.

"I've had a long day, love, and I find myself needing a bit of a reprieve," Will was saying, his voice completely serious but his eyes dancing with a dark mirth and lusty exuberance. Christina shivered a bit as she always did right before - or while - that peculiar mood was descending. It was a mood she still didn't quite understand but by no means abhorred; no, it was just a mystery to her, almost as much as it had been on her wedding night on Naneth's island. That this man kneeling before her wanted her with an ardor that was intimidating, but that she herself was willing to match time and time again - it was confusing, breathtaking, and new each and every time.

"Yes, well, it's your lust for reprieve that's gotten me with child, Will," Christina said offhandedly, folding her hands on her knees and studying Will with an intensity that was reserved for dueling, arguing, and making up after the former two. _There. Best to just be out with it, I suppose…_she thought with a small style. She'd found out a week and a half ago and had only worked up the courage to tell him now, although he might be hurt if he knew that. She was glad it was out in the open now; the Turners, with the ink on their marriage papers barely dried, were to be expecting a child.

It seemed that at first Will didn't understand what she was saying. "With child?" he repeated dumbly, his eyes shooting to her abdomen as he if expected her to be swollen with the babe already. Christina laughed and leaned in close to him, pressing her mouth over his.

"You are such a silly man," she said softly against his lips. "Yes, with child, Will. We're to have a baby and you, my dear blacksmith, shall be a father in nine months time." She kissed him again and sighed as his arms went around her, pulling her from the rocking chair and clumsily onto the floor. Then he broke away with a suddenness that was alarming -

"What is it, Will?" Christina ask, her voice tremulous. Did he not want a child?

"I didn't mean to be so rough with you, Christina," he said hastily, getting to his feet without dislodging her too harshly and lifting her gently so that her feet left the floor. Christina sighed in relief and then squirmed to get out of Will's grip.

"You _are_ a silly man. Darling, I'm not the least bit fragile yet and don't worry you won't have to remain celibate for the next nine months, the midwife told me it's perfect fine to…"

Will grinned.

"Well, to…"

"To what, my love?"

"To…partake fully in your marital duties as my tender, responsive husband," Christina said in a rush, willing her face not to turn all shades of red at the thought. At the very eager thought that, by Will's expression, was very much reciprocated.

"Is that so?" Will asked, letting his wife to her feet and pulling her securely against him. She grinned up at him as she felt his hands pull gently on the laces of her corset, for once not getting tangled and having to cut her loose. They'd been through at least five pairs of laces that way, and it was rather embarrassing to have to face Mrs. Dawson time after time to buy new laces, especially when the woman - who never seemed to catch on to anything so suggestive before - took on the appearance of the cat who caught the canary each time.

"I suppose you'll want to retire to the bedroom now, love?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

"Oh, do lead the way, Will."

* * *

It was a few months later with a few scant weeks before the baby was due, where the two were sitting in bed as a pale moonlight shimmied its way through the open window. Christina smiled and shifted against Will, pressing herself deeper into the circle that his arms made around her. She had grown quite accustomed to the feel of his skin on hers, no longer the least bit shy about aligning every inch of her skin against his. Her favorite part of the day was when they would lay together in the cottage that was quickly becoming their home. The change wasn't automatic - there were times in the first few weeks of her legalized marriage that the cottage felt strange to her. The house sounds were different, the sounds outside of the cottage were foreign. Instead of a huge mansion atop a hill, where at night if she stayed on the balcony she could just faintly hear the waves and the wind, now the sounds of the island were magnified. The house was lower down on the island, closer to the sea and the trees. The waves were always crashing in and out, the birds always scuttling to and fro in the garden. The garden, with the flowers that Christina was just beginning to plant, would one day serve as an excellent reminder of the little island where she and Will had been truly married, under the sky and sunset rather than inside a sturdy, albeit beautiful, church.

Christina found that she missed that island and that in all likelihood she always would, but while its memory was as vibrant as ever, it was slowly becoming a sort of idealized fantasy in her mind. She was settling down into a new life now, the life of a blacksmith's wife. She had become softer, her frame fuller to make way for the quickly growing child. She was now well into her pregnancy and past the deplorable stage in which even the gentlest foods made her sick; Will had been terribly worried then, although Christina had assured him it was perfectly normal. She had tried not to let on how frightened she was, as well; she didn't want to worry him. The fact was that many women died in childbirth, and Christina was quite tempted to seek out Jack and have him take her to the little island where she and Will had been married. Somehow she thought that they would be able to care for her better there, where she knew she would be put to work to keep her body strong up until a few days before the birth. She remembered Taeryn's strength even when she was big with child. As it was, Christina was frustrating her doctors by insisting to take long walks each day around the island. Still, it was the least she could do to not let her body fall apart from bedridden neglect.

"Do want a girl or a boy, Will?" she asked gently, nudging him awake. Will's arms tightened around her, his big calloused hands sliding down to feel the taut skin of her stomach pulled over their budding baby.

"I don't know," he said softly. "Twins, maybe…"

"Ha!" Christina snorted, sticking her elbow in his side. "_You_ carry twins, Mr. Turner. I'll not be carrying around two of your big-boned children. One at a time is quite enough, thank you."

"Be happy they're healthy," Will chastised quietly.

"I am," Christina replied quite seriously. "But you try lugging around all this extra weight. It's murder on my back, love. I can't wait until the child is born…" her voice trembled when she thought of the birth. Will tugged her closer and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Shh. I won't let anything happen to you," he said. And while she appreciated the sentiment, there was precious little Will could do to prevent the dangers of birth. She prayed instead for her own strength and tilted her head up to kiss him.

"I know you wont," she whispered back, fitting herself more firmly against his chest. She would humor him for as long as possible, but she knew the birth wouldn't be easy. She wished, not for the first time, that she had her own mother here to guide her and tell her stories of her own birth, but that comfort had run from her over a decade ago. The anger that Elizabeth expressed towards their flighty mother Christina slowly began to realize. She even wished that perhaps Will's mother could be here to comfort her, although the older Mrs. Turner had been dead for years, God rest her soul.

Christina sighed. Their child would have only one grandparent, Christina's father. Governor Swann was thrilled that he would soon be a grandfather, but he was in England right now on business and he had taken the young maid, Linda, to wait on him there. Elizabeth and Mary were seeing to the house, with Commodore Norrington coming to call on Mary at least twice a week, propriety be damned. Elizabeth was tending to her own independence after years of a coifed and proper existence. The pirates, in some strange and roundabout way, had been the best thing that ever happened to Elizabeth Swann, Christina thought wryly.

_And to me as well,_ Christina smiled. _Well, perhaps not the _best_ thing. But it certainly helped lead to the very best thing..._

"Look, Will!" she breathed, taking his hand and putting it on her belly, where the child was kicking and seeking a more comfortable position. It wasn't the first time that Will felt his child move inside his wife, but it was no less amazing.

"The doctor says in all likelihood it's a boy," Christina murmured.

"He's strong," Will replied, leaning down to kiss the softly rounded hill encasing his son. Christina shivered and pulled Will close to her.

"But Rosa thinks its a girl." Rosa, the old cook, was also Christina's midwife and had seen more births than young Doctor Forster had seen years._ And so it's her word I'll be trusting..._

"It's a few weeks 'til I'm due, but Doctor Forster seems to think we should expect the child early," Christina said pointedly. Will's eyes flashed.

"Has he said anything improper? If he thinks to question your honor -"

Christina laughed. "Oh, Will, I hardly care for what theman thinks. _I_ think your child is eager to meet the world. You could be a father tomorrow."

Will smiled. "Nothing would bring me greater joy," he said, kissing Christina full on the mouth in such a way that she felt light headed and blood rushed to her face. She laughed quietly into his shoulder once she could catch her breath. "What's so funny, love?" he asked.

"To think that I was afraid you would not longer desire me, onceI reached the size of a small whale," Christina chuckled, rubbing her belly and feeling the child kick once again, rather roughly. Perhaps he didn't like to hear his parents speak of such things, she thought with a smile.

Will looked troubled. "Christina, you've never been more beautiful to me than you are right now and _this_," he touched her bellygently, "only makes your beauty greater." Christina smiled and swallowed with an effort, her eyes sparkling with grateful tears. Will grinned mischievously.

"Besides, your being in the family way certainly does have other benefits…"

"Oh? Like what?" Christina said archly.

"Well, you don't seem the type to want a wet nurse and I'm afraid I'll be quite the jealous lad once my son is born…"

"William Turner, you rogue!"


	3. Trouble in Paradise

A/N: This is set a few months after the last chapter, hence, the child is not a newborn. Sorry, newborns are a tad boring and I wanted the new OC to have some plausible space for personality development. Much thanks to reviewers!

P.S.: As to the question of when Jack will show up...I honestly don't know. I've got a vague idea of what's going to happen in this story, and Jack WILL be in it but I'm not exactly sure...when...or how. Because, you know, he can't come to Port Royal even though Norrington isn't really "hunting" for him anymore.

* * *

Elizabeth liked being the mistress of the mansion very much. Oh, all right, so she was only in charge until her father returned, but he wouldn't be back for a few months if all went well in England, and for those few months, Elizabeth was quite set on enjoying herself. He deserved a good long stay in England, and Elizabeth had had quite an ordeal in convincing him that she would be fine to stay home alone; Mary would be her constant companion, along with all the other servants currently employed at the Swann Mansion, and Christina was just a hop, skip and a jump down the rode. But in the end, she had convinced him, however long it might have taken.

_"You know how I worry, Elizabeth, dearest. It isn't proper that a woman should stay home alone without a male to sort out her troubles for her. What if something should happen? What if someone should break into the mansion -"_

_"Father! The only people to have successfully broken into this house were undead pirates! Mr. Millar's boy is dead, although if you ask me it isn't a shame that he is so - forgive me, but he was an odd one…I shall be_ fine_."_

Elizabeth smiled from her spot on the balcony overlooking the island, her fingers curled comfortably around a warm cup of tea. She certainly did like being her own mistress. It was early, the sun having not risen yet, and she was dressed in only her dressing gown and robe. The maids were still abed and there was no one to tell her to hurry on inside and get beneath the covers lest she catch a cold. It was almost like freedom. Quite close to freedom, actually. There was no reason for Elizabeth to feel forced to go about in anything other than the least uncomfortable corset - it didn't even have to be tightly laced unless she was having company. And so, Elizabeth found herself spending her time waking up early in the morning so as not to waste the day.

In the first few weeks that she'd been on her own, Elizabeth made sure to keep her schedule open. If she wanted to walk up a bit to the stables, she did so. She tried to overcome her fear of the horses and see in them what Christina did: only a gentle simplicity and warmth of spirit, but Elizabeth found herself unable to get over their wide eyes and long teeth, and those sturdy-strong legs that looked like they could kick the stuffing out of you if they tried. Visiting the stables was a very short-lived hobby, indeed.

Elizabeth went down to Mrs. Dawson every now and again to look at the new dresses that were made, although Mrs. Dawson assured her that she need only ask and dresses would be custom made and delivered, and Elizabeth need never set foot outside the mansion. What people didn't understand, however, was how terribly Elizabeth wanted to set more than one foot outside the mansion. She wanted her whole being to be outside the mansion and far from it, all the time without parasols or lacy hats to protect her fragile skin. Either way, whenever she visited Mrs. Dawson, Jerome would try to flirt with her or entice her into joining him for a cup of tea, and Elizabeth could not oblige. It had been a while since she stopped by Mrs. Dawson's shop, and Elizabeth blamed the rogue of a man for it.

Now, atop the balcony, Elizabeth sighed. It was rather pleasant, having all one's time to one's self. She hadn't curtsied in about a month, and was glad of it! But it was also rather lonely being the sole mistress of a huge house. Mary was the only one who would talk to her honestly, but Mary was also frequently called out for tea or lunch with Commodore Norrington. _And if she isn't with him, then she's over at Christina's!_

Not for the first time, Elizabeth wished she could be more like her sister. Christina was clearly content with the lifestyle she'd chosen. And why shouldn't she be? She had her own house, a handsome husband, a beautiful baby to care for, and at least a year's worth of adventure to look back on when the spare moments were dreary. _All I've got is a rather frightful memory of undead pirates threatening right and left - and Christina seemed virtually unaffected by that!_ Elizabeth shuddered, still remembering the way Barbossa's crew reeked of death when they had held her captive. Then, with a small sense of smug satisfaction, she remembered how she had eventually fought back. If only there were some sort of excitement to break the monotony now.

With a slight start, Elizabeth realized that it was Saturday. Christina and Will would be coming over with their baby, the little Isabella. Feeling she'd better rest up before the infant was brought in later that day, Elizabeth turned and walked back into her room to sleep a bit before getting up to get ready.

* * *

"Hurry, Will, or we'll be late!" Christina cried, grabbing her hat and shoving it down other her head, fumbling with the lace that was meant to tie neatly under her chin. With a frustrated groan she whipped the hat off again, cursed violently when it got stuck in her hair, and threw it across the room with an apologetic nod at the baby for her bad language. Isabella was watching her mother with a curious, almost pitying expression on her face, and Christina smiled grimly at her little girl.

"Very funny for you, isn't it, lovey? Watching mummy get all nervous just to have tea with Auntie Elizabeth? Well, its easy for you, you look like a little angel…I only pray you'll have mummy's hair when you grow up -"

"Now, now, dear, threatening the child won't do," Will said from the doorway, looking perfectly dapper in plain but well-tailored black pants and jacket. Christina stuck her tongue out at her husband.

"Oh? It's a threat that there's a chance Isabella will have my hair?" Christina asked, her eyes flashing.

"If by hair you mean...bird's nest?" Will teased, but at Christina's murderous look he put his hands up in defense, or perhaps in surrender. The first few months after little Isabella was born were difficult - Christina was an emotional young mother, who alternatively felt incredibly blessed with the beautiful little baby she'd given birth too, and at other times quite terrified of the child. It was ludicrous to Will that Christina should be terrified of the baby, who was about as dangerous as a newborn kitten, but with some gentle probing he had found that Christina was not so much afraid of the baby as the thought of hurting her. Another thought that Will found foolish, because ever since little Isabella had first drawn breath both of her parents had been madly, desperately, and completely in love with her.

"Love, little Isabella would be blessed to have any one of your features -"

The baby gurgled in a way that sounded almost sarcastic.

"And I suppose fifteen years from now you'd be beating the young boys away with a stick, is that right?" Christina quipped, picking up the cooing child and kissing her on the cheek. Isabella seemed to find this objectionable and wriggled desperately, blowing bubbles and pulling her mother's wild tangle of hair.

"I'm a blacksmith, Christina, I think I could do a sight better than sticks…"

"Don't you go ruining our daughter's chances at courting, Will! I wont have it," Christina warned, handing the baby to Will to smooth her dress in the mirror. They were already running late for tea with Elizabeth, who was always anxious to see her niece, and Christina always liked to look her best in the old mansion. Elizabeth was still thin and pretty, and Christina, though always in her sister's shadow physically, had no desire to appear the crone before her time.

"We'll talk about Isabella and boys in a decade or so, all right?" Will asked, shifting the baby onto his other side and tugging Christina out the door. "You look beautiful, not a day over eighteen, my love…" he murmured, kissing her hand and leading her into the carriage. Isabella laughed gaily at her father's words, and Christina pouted at the child.

"Be nice to mummy, Bella. Just because you've so recently tumbled from heaven…" she teased, kissing her daughter again on one soft, chubby cheek. The baby pushed her mother's face away, and for a moment Christina looked sorely hurt. Will saw this and, shifting Isabella once again, leaned in to kiss Christina on the neck.

"Don't worry, love, she's just a child. She doesn't want anyone to hold her anymore - she's certainly got her mother's independence," he whispered. "And it only took her nine months to figure out that she can take care of herself perfectly fine."

"She doesn't seem to have a problem with you holding her," Christina remarked casually, nuzzling Will's neck before he had time to respond and smiling brightly as Isabella reached for her hand and tried to pull off her rings. The small child gave an impudent yell of frustration when the rings wouldn't come off. "But it seems she has your temper."

"_My_ temper?" Will looked affronted. "Need I remind you that _you_ were the one who made a bonfire out of my clothes -"

"You shouldn't have left them laying around, Will, and I _told_ you about a million times to _pick the damn things up!_"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I thought the home was _your_ frontier…"

"Oh, so your sweaty, dirty, disgusting used clothes are _my_ responsibility? Is that it?"

"Who brings home the food?"

"Oho, then! Who _cooks_ your bloody food! Who walked around like a - a miniature _island_ for nine months carrying your child? Who gave birth to her, just so that she could plainly favor you!" Christina broke off in a sob and pushed his hands off her when he tried to console her. The carriage slowed to stop and Christina wrenched the door open, dashing her tears aside and feeling even worse for wear.

"I'm your wife, not your slave, Will! And I will _not_ simper around and pick up _YOUR MESS _for the rest of my _LIFE_! I WONT DO IT, Will!" Christina shouted, angrily trying to smooth her skirts and wishing she could lace up her corset a bit tighter. _For God's sake, I still look like a cow!_

Elizabeth would of course look stunning, and Christina had just smeared what remained of her powder across her face. Elizabeth would look like the perfect young maid…_And I'll show up the desperate, half-mad housewife!_ She held out her arms for Isabella, who was whimpering and on the verge of tears having witnessed her parents fight. Will did not look eager to hand over his daughter, and Christina, realizing this, almost started to cry again.

Will handed the baby back to Christina. "I'm sorry, Christina, I know it's been hard for you…" he said quietly. Christina sniffled, hugging her daughter close and trying to find some small comfort in the tiny, warm body in her arms. For once, Isabella didn't pull away. She pressed what might have been a kiss to her mother's collar bone. Then Christina realized that Isabella was in all likelihood hungry, and instead of trying to comfort her mother, was asking to be nursed. Christina sighed ruefully.

"You don't know how hard, Will," she said thickly, hurrying up the path to the doorway.

"I would if you told me!" he said under his breath, angrily. Christina sighed and felt on the edge of breaking again.

"I can't!" she whispered desperately. How could she tell him that everything was perfect and wonderful, and he was the kindest, most gentle, caring, and understanding husband a woman could ask for? How could she tell him that Isabella was the surely the most beautiful baby any woman could ever wish to bear? How could she tell him that she loved the cottage and loved the garden; that her food was slowly becoming more and more edible and would soon even maybe be tasty, that her hands were no longer rubbing raw from the laundry soap and that the sitting room floor was always, _always_ neatly swept in case of company…and yet she felt like something was missing? It was awful of her, wasn't it, that she should miss the _Pearl_ and Jack and the crew; that she should miss the crow's nest and wearing men's breeches and boots? It was terrible that she should hate her pale skin and soft, womanish body and instead wanted the salt and the sun and the sea?

"Oh, please don't let me be like my mother!" Christina prayed softly, hiding her face in Isabella's thick curly hair and inhaling the baby-scent which for once didn't mean that the child had soiled herself.

"What did you -" Will asked, but was cut off by Elizabeth herself answering the door, looking like Aphrodite herself.


	4. An Independent Imp

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

"Bella!" Elizabeth cooed, holding her arms out for the child, who went willingly as if attracted by the glinting shine of Elizabeth's burnished gold hair. Christina huffed under her breath and forced her face into a reluctant smile - Isabella's snuffling to be fed apparently forgotten. Isabella was quite content to let her aunt cuddle her, giggling happily and tugging on Elizabeth's tightly curled hair, which of course bounced back into its perfect shape no matter how hard the little girl tugged on it.

"Hello, Christina. Hello, Will. How are you?" Elizabeth asked, smiling brightly from behind Isabella's pudgy little hand. Christina said nothing and stiffened as she felt Will's hand on the small of her back, ushering her into the mansion.

"We're fine. And you?" Will asked, casting a rather anxious look at Christina, who was pretending to examine the tapestries.

"The mansion looks wonderful, Elizabeth, you must have the servants working hard at keeping everything so…so….clean," Christina finished lamely, inspecting one of the marble busts that adorned the atrium of the mansion. Elizabeth looked puzzled.

"No harder than usual, no. I'm afraideverything would come undone if I tried to meddle with their routine," she said. They headed into the warmly furnished den and waited for Mary to come bustling in with the tea, but were greeted by Linda instead.

"Here you are, Miss Elizabeth. Mr. Turner, Mrs. Turner," the girl said quietly, curtsying a greeting and curtsying again on her way out after having placed a fine silver tray laden with tea and scones on the small table that Elizabeth and the Turners were sitting around.

"Where's Mary?" Christina asked, tentatively shooting a glance at Isabella; the child was still content to place with the lace on Elizabeth's dress, and was in no hurry to leave. Christina wouldn't embarrass herself by taking the child back and having little Bella cause a fuss - it wouldn't do for Elizabeth to know that Isabella preferred her to her own mother.

"Oh, she's usually out with the Commodore around this time," Elizabeth said easily, nary a trace of rejection in her voice. And why should there be? She was never in love with the Commodore and had long since ceased to think of the man as part of her territory. "I quite approve," she continued.

"Is she still working as a maid, then?" Will asked, smiling at Christina as she handed him his cup of tea. Christina smiled back weakly, still undeniably uncomfortable although really without a solid idea as to why. She wasn't entirely discontented with her life as a wife - she rather liked it. But things seemed so different now, she didn't feel young or desirable anymore even though she was only twenty-three. And, honestly, she had very rarely felt desirable in her life - so why the sudden displeasure?

"Oh, no…She's been promoted to housekeeper, now. Quite a bit more of a salary, and she's in charge of nearly everything that goes on around here. She's been letting me help her, actually, while Father's away, but I wouldn't be able to manage without her. It's a bit of a learning experience, actually, and I'll quite need it if I ever get married…" Elizabeth was saying. Christina blinked.

"If you ever get married? Why, don't you want to get married, Elizabeth?" she asked, torn from her thoughts. Elizabeth shrugged and let Isabella, who was beginning to fuss, be taken by Will. The child quieted down instantly as she was bounced on her father's knee, and Christina felt her stomach clench as if torn between elation at Will's obvious love for their daughter and jealousy - she wanted Isabella to come willingly to _her_ and not just when the child was eager for a meal.

"Of course I want to get married. But it's been so lovely having the mansion all to myself, without being forced to attend ceremonies or galas or teas with 'all the best people'," Elizabeth sniffed. "Besides, who is there to marry? _You've_ married the formerly most eligible bachelor on this little island." Elizabeth's eyes were twinkling and her lips were twitching, and Christina knew that she didn't intend any harm by her words. Her spirits lifting slightly at the fact that she and Elizabeth were able to joke about things that had formerly caused violence, Christina smiled back and looked rather lovingly at Will, who was singing under his breath at their daughter. Feeling her gaze, Will looked up and smiled, his ears turning rather pink at having been caught playing the doting father.

"Commodore Norrington is now the most eligible bachelor but I'm afraid he wont be for long," Elizabeth was saying, delicately taking a sip of tea and grimacing. She placed it down and added a hearty amount of sugar before taking it up again.

"Has he proposed to Mary?" Christina asked eagerly, hoping for an answer in the affirmative. Elizabeth grinned, breaking off a piece of a scone and handing it to Isabella to gnaw on - the baby still hadn't had a tooth come in.

"Oh, no. He wouldn't be so bold as all that. Their courting has gone unbearable slowly, in fact. But I don't think there's much hope for any of us old maids in Port Royal where the Commodore is concerned," Elizabeth said jokingly.

"What about Jerome Dawson?" Christina asked, warming up to the subject. _Good Lord, I'm just as much of a gossip as the rest of the matrons on Port Royal. Marriage does strange things to women…_she thought to herself, smiling broadly at the scandalized look on her sister's face.

"Jerome Dawson, that rogue! Oh, I wouldn't marry him if he were the last man on Earth!" Elizabeth said viciously. Perhaps more viciously than necessary, if the spots of color that bloomed on Elizabeth's cheeks were any indication. Christina shrugged haplessly and held out her arms to Isabella, who hid her face in Will's neck. Christina sighed, pouring herself her own cup of tea and adding honey to it. She was just about to lift it to her lips when Isabella gave a tiny cry of "Ma!"

Christina was so startled that she nearly dropped the tea cup. Elizabeth's eyes widened and Will was smiling so broadly it looked as if his face might split in two.

"Was that her first word?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly, her eyes shining strangely all of a sudden. Christina shook her head, unable to speak.

"She's been saying 'Da' and 'no' for a while now," Will explained, handing the baby over to Christina, who was staring at Isabella with a mixture of gratitude and joy on her face.

"'No' came first," Christina said absently, as Isabella pointed to the scones with a petulant look on her face. Elizabeth laughed.

"But don't babies normally ask for their mothers first?" she asked, rather harmlessly, but the question struck a nerve with Christina all the same. Will looked uneasily at Christina, whose face had hardened as her mouth set into a thin line.

"I've got to nurse the baby," she said archly, standing and walking out of the room and into up the stairs into her old bedroom. Will sighed.

"What did I say?" Elizabeth asked, looking rather hurt. Will shook his head.

"Nothing. Christina fancies that Isabella…well, I suppose the main thing is that she's afraid she wont be a good mother," he said, knowing full well that Christina would not be pleased that he was talking about her. Still, his wife's moods were aggravating at best and down right troubling at worst. He knew of Christina and Elizabeth's mother's flight from Governor Swann, and he knew that her mother's history worried her, just as his father's history as a pirate one worried him.

"Like our mother, you mean?" Elizabeth asked.

"Don't let her hear you say that - she believes Isabella's grandmother was some sort of heroine," Will said stiffly. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"I'll never understand it. The woman left us. She was a passably good mother before that, but nothing can excuse her desertion," Elizabeth said angrily, the spots of color on her cheeks that had been fading flaring up again. Will sighed, not eager to discuss such private matters with Elizabeth - it was better to leave the issue of Belynda Swann as absent as the subject herself. Nobody knew where Belynda was, or if she was even alive, and since her leave-taking was thirteen years past, it hardly seemed to matter anymore. Still, Christina's cherished memories of her mother did not mix well with the fears she felt in her new motherhood, and the fact that Isabella was a headstrong little imp only added to the tension. The fact was that Will worried for his wife and while he knew that she loved him, he also knew that something was bothering her, and she wouldn't tell him what. And above all, it was her secrecy that worried him the most.

* * *

"Come now, Isabella," Christina said softly, sitting with her back to the headboard of her old bed and loosening the ties on her dress to pull it down so that the baby could nurse. Christina sighed, stroking Isabella's perfect dark curls and marveling at how their color was nearly identical to the color of her own hair.

"You are my little miracle," she whispered to the child, who was otherwise ignoring her mother. Christina wished, not for the first time, that she had her own mother hear to tell her stories of herself at Isabella's age and assure her that the child's apparent indifference as just a stage - or better yet, a fabrication of a tired young mother's mind. Christina had been sure that she'd felt a connection to the baby when Isabella had been born. She had taken nearly twenty-four painful hours to deliver and Christina was exhausted afterward, but she had stayed awake to nurse her baby for the first time and had seen Isabella's then-blue eyes watching her, wide open with amazement an a peculiar sense of recognition that Christina assumed all babies shared when they saw their mother for the first time. Christina had sworn to herself then that she would love and care for this baby with everything in her - she would fight for her daughter, die for her and never dream of abandoning her the way her own mother had abandoned Elizabeth and herself. But Isabella, though she was naught but a baby, had never seemed to need Christina as much as Christina needed Isabella; or, in fact, as Christina still needed Belynda sometimes even though she was a grown woman.

It hurt to suspect that Isabella didn't love her at all. Anita, who would frequently visit with her daughter Yanira to help Christina with the cooking and who was an experienced mother at twenty-seven, had explained that a child's love was a selfish love. "My little Yani holds my heart in her tiny hands and I swear she knows it. She'll do everything to test you, little things to break your heart - but Isabella loves you, Christina in a child's own selfish way. She knows you'll always be there even though she's still so young, she'll take you for granted- so you must always be there."

Isabella was presently drifting off to sleep, her now-dark eyes heavy lidded and her grubby little hand clutching the necklace of black pearls that hung around Christina's neck. Without waking the baby, Christina shifted her onto her other side and, with one hand, pulled up her shift and over dress, buttoning it at best she could around Isabella's heavy sleeping body. She brushed a kiss to her daughter's soft cheek and heard the little girl murmur "Maa…" thickly. Christina leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes feeling at peace with her sleeping child in her arms even as black ships and tumbling seas danced behind her eyes.

She woke up only a few minutes later, groggy and disoriented with the arm that was holding Isabella numb and tingling. She had been in the crow's nest of the _Pearl_, returning to Naneth's island hoping to sit with Naneth and Taeryn for a while, even with Maurya, if only to ask to listen to their wisdom. Taeryn had seemed nothing but contend with her rounded belly and her sturdy husband and Christina felt like she was betraying Will and Isabella every time she thought about the _Pearl_ and the sea. With a sinking feeling of disgust with herself that even now Christina knew she would cover up with a prickly attitude and a sharp tongue, she headed down stairs carrying the still-slumbering Isabella.

She paused on the landing, hearing Will and Elizabeth's voice murmuring quietly so that they would not carry up the stairs.

"I just worry about her, is all…She seems so unhappy sometimes, and I don't know why…Isabella's just a baby, she doesn't understand. I just wish she would be a more…I don't know…a more needy child. She's so blasted independent…" came Will's frustrated voice. Christina could tell that he was raking his hands through his hair with agitation and her stomach flipped - he had noticed her unhappiness, and he felt just as helpless as she did. She felt suddenly worse about her - a failure as a mother, as a wife, probably as a woman as well. As a female, she was meant for this, wasn't she? She had been taught that there was no greater achievement in a woman's life than to be a dutiful, loving wife and mother…_Rubbish_, the defiant part of Christina's mind snapped. _I can do lots of more useful things than pop out babies and clean the cottage! I've fought pirates!_

But that part of her life was apparently over, wasn't it? She was married, she had a child. And now there was nothing left for her but to adjust to being a wife and mother…Why couldn't that be enough?

* * *

A/N:I'm doing a bit of research into post-partum depression, if anyone wants to know. I'll try to keep to updating on weekends, as weeks are a bit hellish (but delightfully so), but I'm starting (rather late) to plan for college (eek) so I don't know how much time I'll have to write... 


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